The Wilderness Club

The Wilderness Club by Frodo46888@aol.com

Chapter One

It was a bitterly cold night, and when I saw the hitchhiker trying to shield himself from the wind with his short jacket, I just had to stop. "Burlington, Vermont," he said tersely as he threw his ragged bag in the back and settled into the passenger seat. I was headed in that general direction.

I held out my hand and introduced myself, and when I grasped his icy, calloused palm he replied only, "Bill."

He was a big man, and possibly ten years older than my 25 winters, though in the dark it was hard to tell. His face hadn't seen a razor for days, and I could smell beer on his breath. I hoped I hadn't made an error in judgment by picking him up, though I was usually capable of handing most situations.

I tried several times to engage him in conversation, but I got only one or two word responses. As I swung onto the Interstate, I decided that he wasn't going to be much entertainment.

He had been warming his ungloved hands between his legs, and in time I saw them slide up to press his crotch. After more than a half-hour of silence, he suddenly spoke.

"You're gonna have to stop. I gotta take a piss."

"Can't stop on the highway," I replied. "I'll take the next exit. I think it's maybe ten miles."

"Piss my pants before then. Can't hold it no longer," Bill advised grimly.

"I guess you should have taken a leak while you were waiting out there."

"Cold enough to freeze your pecker off. Thought I could wait."

"Well, hang on," I said. "We'll be off the highway in a few minutes."

There was little traffic when I exited at a minor State road, and I pulled onto the shoulder at a patch of woods. When Bill opened the door and stepped out, I could see that the seat of his jeans was soaked. Still, he took a couple of steps and splattered more onto the weeds. I was glad that my upholstery was washable vinyl.

"Sorry I pissed your seat. Told ya I couldn't hold it," he stated as he got back in.

"That's OK. I'll clean it off in the morning." I paused. "I'm not driving straight through. It's at least another five hours, and I'm beat. That looks like a motel down the road."

"OK, you can leave me here," my passenger said as he started to open the door again. "At least I'm thawed out a bit. Thanks for the ride. Sorry about the seat."

"Wait," I told him. "With those wet jeans, you're going to get mighty cold, and there aren't many cars passing by. You can bunk with me tonight if you want."

I realized the risk as soon as the words were out of my mouth, but he would be a candidate for serious frostbite in this weather. He gave me a long look with his gray eyes, and then his face softened.

"Guess you look safe enough. I'd appreciate that."

He closed the door and I drove to the lights of the motel. It was small and a bit seedy, but it would do. I wasn't surprised to find that there was a vacancy, and a couple of minutes later Bill and I were carrying our bags to the room.

I got a good look at my companion. He was well over six feet, with the heavy muscles of a manual laborer. His blonde hair was shaggy and matted, and his shirt and jeans were none too clean. I told him that he could use the shower first.

He rummaged in his duffel bag and pulled out a pair of dingy briefs, then went into the bathroom and closed the door. About twenty minutes later he came out, looking refreshed if also still unshaven. It was difficult not to stare at his massive, hairy chest and arms and the bulge of his worn briefs.

I took my turn in the bathroom and saw that Bill had rinsed out his pants and hung them on a towel rack. When I emerged, similarly only in briefs, he looked me up and down. "Guess you must work out a lot."

I did. I called the front desk and learned of a small shopping plaza just down the road, which included both a restaurant and a laundromat. I pulled on jeans and a shirt and told Bill I could get all his things washed while I was getting us some takeout supper.

"Just a burger and fries for me," he said. "I ain't got much money."

While the two loads of wash were in the dryer, I walked to the Chinese restaurant a few doors down and ordered a selection of items, more than enough for two people. I also stopped at a convenience store and picked up a six pack of beer. In less than an hour, I was back at the motel room. Bill was stretched out on the bed watching TV, and I couldn't help noticing his hardon. Not more than a six-incher, I thought, but it was nice nonetheless.

"Ain't had much lovin' lately," he explained with a slight blush. Then he ate ravenously, washing his food down with a couple of beers. There wasn't a scrap left over.

I drank two of the beers, and Bill finished the other four. As he was returning from his second trip to the bathroom, he commented, "Small bladder.

Can't hold it worth shit. But you already know that."

A full stomach and four beers relaxed him and loosened his tongue. He told me briefly of his failed marriage and the loss of his job, and of his decision to go live on his late grandfather's farm in Vermont.

"Last I knew," he explained, "they just closed it up and left it to rot. It's as much mine as it is my sister's, so I'm movin' in."

For some bizarre reason, I trusted this man. I told Bill of my inherited trust fund, and that I had tentatively planned a few weeks skiing and exploring New England.

"You're welcome to stay at the farm," he offered. "I owe ya a lot for the food and the bed and the laundry. I don't forget those things."

I thought about that as we slipped into our beds and went quickly to sleep.

Chapter Two

The motel provided a "continental breakfast" of rolls, coffee and juice, and by 8:00 we were back on the road. Halfway to Burlington, Bill indicated a need for a rest stop, and as we got closer to the city he gave me directions along tiny back roads to his grandfather's farm. The long driveway had not been plowed, but a foot of snow was no problem for my big SUV.

The timeworn cape badly need paint, and although the barn looked sound, there were other outbuildings in various states of collapse. The surrounding fields were growing up with pine and poplar.

Bill's work boots tramped a trail to the back door, and the corroded lock easily gave way and let us in. It seemed almost colder inside. We walked through the shabby ell and into the kitchen, its walls and ceiling blackened by decades of woodsmoke. Bill knew where to locate old newspaper and kindling, and he brought in an armload of wood from the shed. In a few minutes, he had a roaring fire throwing delicious waves of heat from the cast-iron cookstove.

One front room was a parlor, thick with dust, and the other was a bedroom with an old-fashioned double bed and dark mahogany bureaus and tables. The electricity had been disconnected, but there were oil lamps in every room.

"Not like the fancy resort you thought you were goin' to," Bill remarked, "but you're welcome to stay as long as you want. Ain't nobody done me a favor like you did in a long time."

I decided that it would be a challenge and an experience to remember, so I told Bill I'd be delighted to accept his invitation. I brought in all our things from the car, and by that time Bill was working at priming the pitcher pump at the kitchen sink.

"No runnin' water here," he told me, "and ya use the shithouse back of the shed."

Needing a pee rather urgently, I investigated the privy. It was a two-holer at the far end of the ell, cold and drafty, but I thought I could manage.

Once the kitchen was warm and the fire had settled down, I suggested we go into town for food and supplies.

"I ain't got much money," Bill reminded me, but I countered with the fact that I was prepared to spend a couple of hundred dollars a day at the ski resort. I'd just spend it here instead. "And I couldn't ask for better company," I added.

Bill stared for an instant, then looked away. His huge hand grasped my arm and squeezed. He seemed reluctant to let go.

It was dark by the time we got back from shopping. Perishable items were placed in the parlor, which was cold but probably not below freezing. Bill lit three lamps while I cleaned two pans and a skillet and began to prepare supper.

"This is great!" Bill remarked as he wolfed down his food. "Thanks!"

He looked directly at me with those warm, gray eyes. "Thanks."

Bill consumed his after-dinner six pack, and then we went into the bedroom.

"I ain't never slept with a guy since I was nine, ten," Bill said, "but you ain't gonna fuck around. Guess it's OK."

I had long ago learned to control my sexual impulses, and I was just dropping off to sleep when Bill threw back the covers and sat on the edge of the bed.

"Guess my pecker don't know you're a man," Bill announced. "Got a wicked boner 'cause I can feel you're in the bed."

"It won't bother me if you want to take care of it," I said. I turned my back to him and closed my eyes. I heard him get up, presumably returning with tissues or something to catch the cum. Then his side of the bed rocked for a couple of minutes, his breathing becoming heavy. He groaned repeatedly, and a moment later he got up and padded out to dispose of the results of his activity.

I woke first, and I pulled on yesterday's clothes and worked to revive the fire in the kitchen stove. Then I visited the privy, returning to pump some water into the kettle for coffee. Bill appeared in the doorway, his morning woodie tenting his briefs.

"Looks like you know what to do," he commented, and then he walked briskly to the backhouse.

I made breakfast, finding cooking on the woodstove a challenge. Bill heated a large pot of water on the stove, then we took turns washing ourselves at the kitchen sink.

"I need to get a job," Bill remarked. "Can't live off you forever."

So we went into town and stopped at every business, learning in the process that this part of Vermont was completely lacking in employment opportunities.

In midafternoon, we ended up at the only bar. The bartender was someone that Bill knew, and he considered the problem. He looked us over carefully.

"There's one thing," the bartender told Bill. "You know the Wilderness Club?"

"That's a place that a bunch of rich bastards from New York have," Bill explained to me. "Bunch o' queers, from what I've heard."

The bartender smiled. "They've been looking for waiters and a bartender for some special week right after New Year's. Maybe you guys are what they're looking for."

"We ain't queer," Bill responded, "but work is work. Maybe we'll look into it."

Chapter Three

The following morning, Bill gave me directions to the Wilderness Club. It proved to be a large, Victorian mansion located next to a small, private lake. We drove up to the front door and walked in.

The interior was lavishly ornate, and we were greeted by a tanned, fit man in his fifties who introduced himself as Wes. He guided us into his plush office.

"You look pretty straight to me," Wes observed, and we both nodded.

"Just what we're looking for," he continued. "You may know about our usual clientele." We both nodded again. "Well, the week after New Year's, we have something special. These guys are into urination."

"I piss six, seven times a day, and I do it real well," Bill announced with a grin.

"Great!" Wes replied. "I think you'll be quite impressive in our uniforms. We pay $400 a day plus any tips you may get. You are not required to participate in any sex, though you can expect to be groped pretty regularly. You need to play being straight and innocent as much as possible. Still interested?"

Bill nodded with enthusiasm. "That's more money than I seen in a long time."

"You show up on New Year's Day and we'll do a little training," Wes said.

Bill was elated as we headed home. "Won't have to live off you anymore."

Christmas was a quiet affair for us. Although we had agreed that we would not exchange gifts, I found a newspaper-wrapped parcel on the breakfast table on Christmas morning. Inside was a beautiful porcelain representation of a bird in flight. I was sure it was a rare, valuable item.

"It was my gramma's," Bill said softly. "Nothin' I want or need, but I thought you might think it was pretty. She'd a' been happy to have someone like you have it."

I couldn't contain the tears. I placed my hand on Bill's great paw. "Thank you, my friend."

We showed up at the Wilderness Club on New Year's Day as requested. Wes discovered that I had bartending experience, so he spent most of his time training Bill to be a waiter. Then we were measured for our uniforms, which proved to be tight, white T-shirts with the club logo and equally tight, light-blue pants, whose crotch had been specially tailored to push our genitals forward. We were also given skimpy bikini briefs to wear underneath. There was one other waiter recruited, and Bill immediately labeled him as "a queer", an evaluation that I could not refute. He did leer at us often.

On the morning of January 2, we were at the club at 9:00 to greet arriving guests and carry their luggage to their rooms. I did have my ass patted several times, and I was invited to several rooms after supper, but I politely declined. The clients were a varied group but mostly older men.

Our principal duties began at 4:00. We were required to drink a quart bottle of water beforehand, and every half hour, gentle chimes requested us to drink another 12 ounces of bottled water. We were quite popular with the guests, who made contact with us at every opportunity, and because there was so little to do, we spent most of our time talking with the patrons. The bar was a counter top with no cabinetry beneath, so I was always visible from the waist down. By 5:30, Bill approached the bar with a drink order and whispered to me, "I gotta take a piss."

I was getting full, but I still had matters under control, and the other waiter, Willie, didn't look particularly uncomfortable. Bill was back a few minutes later.

"I've been able to put up with the squeezes and rubs," he murmured, "but I never pissed my pants in front of everybody like this. I thought I could do it, but now I'm not so sure."

Noting his fidgets I remarked with a wink, "It's going to happen whether you want it to or not."

Bill did hang on as long as he could, but soon everyone was watching him as he bounced and squirmed. He was carrying a tray of drinks to a table when the dam burst. He put down the tray quickly and grabbed at his crotch, but pee flooded out and down his legs, the blue material becoming very dark. The patrons at that table laughed and cheered, and a ripple of applause ran through the room. Bill was pink with embarrassment, but he recovered his composure, smiled, and said loudly enough for all to hear, "I'm sorry, but I couldn't hold it no longer." Money of various denominations was thrust into the waist of his pants as he walked toward the back room.

Oliver, the janitor appeared, pushing a caddy that included a mop and bucket.

He was probably sixty, with a short, gray beard and twinkling brown eyes.

"Guess I'm goin' to be real busy this evening," he remarked with a smile, and he proceeded to clean the tile floor thoroughly. When he was done, he went to the bar and guzzled a bottle of water.

"I'm supposed to drink one of these every time I mop up," he advised me. "If you guys got weak bladders, it'll be me pissin' myself!"

There was a rack of spare pants in the back room, and Bill returned looking much more comfortable. Willie, the other waiter, now kept one hand firmly clamped on his cock, and all eyes traveled to him. I was trying to look calm, but I was dying for a pee. Two men sat on bar stools and asked me if I had to go, so I kept up a running account of my urgency for their benefit. But it was Willie who peed himself next.

I happened to be looking in his direction when I saw the wave of panic on his face. Then the pee flowed, through his fingers and down his legs, dripping on the floor. For an instant I was afraid he might burst into tears, but he put on a smile and took a small bow as the guests hooted and clapped. Oliver appeared, mopped up the floor, and drank the required bottle of water.

"I shoulda peed before I came on duty," he announced with a broad wink.

I had to go really badly. I crossed my legs casually and jiggled slightly up and down.

"Looks like you've got to take a piss," one of the men at the bar remarked with a smile.

"I've been holding it for a long time," I replied, "and it's really bad now."

"Wouldn't look good for you to piss your pants," he said. "You've just got to hold it."

At that moment, one of the guests, a slender young man with an older companion, jumped up and walked briskly toward the lobby. The seat of his pants was very wet, and there were ripples of laughter. His tablemate said loudly, "I told him he should have taken a piss before we came down here!" Oliver washed the chair and came over to the bar for his water.

"I gotta take a massive leak already," he said to me as he drank. "This is going to finish me off."

Wes, the dignified manager, appeared at the doorway to announce that dinner could be taken in the lounge if anyone so chose. When people saw that the crotch of his expensive suit was wet, they cheered and hooted. Wes grinned.

"I've been so busy all afternoon I haven't had a chance to get to the men's room," he explained. "I thought I could wait, but I couldn't."

I had been sporting a bladder-induced erection for some time, but even that couldn't prevent me from leaking. I could feel wetness in my crotch, and the men at the bar pointed and commented as the dark patch slowly grew. Spasms sent jets of hot pee into my pants, and I received a round of applause as it streamed down my legs. When I finally got it under control, I went out back to change. Oliver was just finishing his mopping when I returned. My tip jar was filling rapidly!

"I gotta pee, I gotta pee, I gotta pee," he chanted as he danced. Then he stood at the bar facing the guests and drank his water slowly, his free hand pulling blatantly on his cock.

"This ain't no joke," he said loudly, continuing to pull on himself. "I ain't supposed to piss in front of the payin' guests, but I gotta go so bad my eyeballs must be yeller."

A couple of minutes later, Oliver had to clean up after another patron, which he did one handed. He was just approaching the bar when he doubled over, both hands at his crotch, and muttered, "Oh, shit!" Pee cascaded through his pants and formed a large puddle on the floor. The customers loved it, and bills were stuffed into his waistband.

Chapter Four

Scenes like this were repeated throughout the evening. At 10:00, a projection TV was rolled in and a tape inserted. Wes stood at the front of the room and explained.

"This tape was taken at a college fraternity. The students had to consume beer at a given rate, and they could not leave the room to relieve themselves. The contest ended when half the men were wet, and the dry ones got well paid. These guys were all presumably straight, by the way.

The tape showed a room crowded with college-age young men, all drinking beer. It was edited to speed up the passage of time, and we heard increasing comments about the lack of a toilet and the need to pee. There were some really hot shots of the men's efforts to hang on, and when one finally peed himself spectacularly, he was stripped naked on the spot, much to our delight. When half the men were milling about naked, the tape ended, to be replaced by close-up shots of men peeing at a urinal. The final scenes were of a peeing contest, where volume held and distance peed were recorded.

At midnight, the lounge closed. Wes approached us and thanked us profusely for our performance, extracting a promise to return at 4:00 the next day. On the way out, several guests invited us to stay the night, but we politely declined. As we drove back to the farm, Bill counted his tip money.

"Four hundred and twenty!" he exclaimed. "And all I did was piss my pants a few times. By the way, I gotta take a wicked piss now."

I was surprised that he didn't immediately visit the privy when we walked into the chilly house, but instead he stood there with one hand clamped on his crotch as I got the fire going in the cookstove.

"I never realized that a full bladder would make me so horny." he told me. "I gotta piss like a champ and I'm horny as hell!"

The evening's events had left me in a state of permanent hardness as well. "So what are we going to do about this?" I said with a grin.

"I ain't no fuckin' queer," he growled, "but maybe we could help each other out a little."

There was a large jar on the shelf, kept for some unknown purpose, so I took it and wiped it off. I also grabbed some sheets of paper towel. Then I sat on the lumpy couch and indicated that Bill should sit next to me.

"Looks like you need to get rid of some pee," I said, and I reached over to unzip his fly. Exposing his bulging briefs, I pulled down the waistband to have his stubby but thick cock spring out. I had been correct in my estimate of six inches. In his awkward seated position, it was just enough to reach the jar.

Bill's ears were pink. "She ain't much for size, but she does real good for what I need."

"It's beautiful," I told him, and I got the jar in position just as the first spurt of pee gushed out. He filled the jar halfway, and then I placed it on the floor, my fingers still holding his cock. I fondled it a bit as his breathing increased, and then I grasped it firmly and jacked away. In less than two minutes, Bill groaned and shot great gobs into the paper towel.

"Never let a guy do that to me before, but it was better than doin' it myself," he conceded after he got his breath back.

"Now it's your turn," I advised him, and he unzipped me and revealed my insistent boner.

"God, you're hung!" he exclaimed. I smiled. I was probably three inches longer than Bill, though perhaps not quite as thick, and it did look impressive. He held the jar as I released enough piss to fill it to the brim.

"I still got more, but that takes the edge off," I advised him.

He curled his rough hand around my shaft and began to pump. Horny as I was, I managed to hold off for nearly ten minutes before I shot massively into the awaiting towels.

"Looks like about a pint of cum," he commented.

We crawled into bed a few minutes later and slept soundly. I awoke, savoring the morning sun, the pleasant pressure in my bladder, and another hardon. Bill stirred soon after, and he put a great hand on my arm.

"Don't know why I let you do that to me last night, and sure don't know why I did it to you," he admitted. "But it was fun."

I rolled toward him. "We can do it again if you like," I said. Taking his silence as acceptance, I slowly embraced him and rubbed my body against his. I could feel his confined hardon against mine. He didn't pull away. We began thrusting against each other, our hands sliding up and down each other.

He groaned first, but within a minute I was also shooting into my briefs. And when we lay back to recover, he commented, "These drawers needed to be changed anyway."

After Bill got the fire roaring, we took turns standing naked at the sink to wash our bodies without a trace of modesty. We ate, lolled about, and ate again, and then it was time to return to the Wilderness Club.

"What do you think about staying over this time?" Bill asked.

"If you want to try it, just pick someone that doesn't want to ram it up your ass," I advised.

Chapter Five

The second evening at the club was much the same, and almost as profitable as the first. This time, as we entered the lobby as if to leave, we apprised the knot of men waiting for us.

Bill went over to talk with a very elderly man, while I smiled at someone in his forties, who was accompanied by a lad barely twenty. Bill and I winked at each other as we went upstairs with our clients.

The older man introduced himself as Philip, and he was short and somewhat overweight. The young man, Brandon, was almost my height but very thin and very quiet.

"Philip rubbed his crotch and said, "I haven't peed since suppertime and I really have to go. How about you?"

I admitted that all the water I had consumed was having its repeated effect, but that I could wait a short while. Brandon sat silently and squirmed.

"i have to go really bad," Philip reiterated. "Brandon does, too, but he never says so until he pisses himself."

We chatted briefly about the comforts of the club, and then Philip placed his hand on his crotch. "Ooo! Ooo!" he said as his crotch darkened. He stood up and smiled. "I do believe I've wet my pants!"

Brandon was massaging his crotch as his mate went into the bathroom, emerging in a minute wrapped only in a towel. His pudgy, hairless body was less than appealing, but I was a good actor and leered appropriately.

"You must be getting uncomfortable," Philip said as he sat next to me.

Indeed I was. I really did have to pee.

"If I wait much longer," I told him with a grin, "I might have an accident."

Just at that moment, Brandon stood up, did a little dance, and peed his pants copiously and wordlessly. Then he went into the bathroom, and strode out totally naked. His scrawny body was complemented by a long, thin cock that flopped as he walked. It was as long as mine, though not nearly as thick, but he was uncut. Placing a towel on the couch, he sat next to his companion.

"You can see that Brandon has certain, um, gifts, that I appreciate. Sometimes he complains for the longest time about needing a pee, but this time I think you made him bashful, and he just held it as long as he could. That's never very long."

"I can hold it for quite a while," I said, "but I really have to pee now. Really."

"We have some extra clothing you can wear if there's an, um, accident."

I smiled and squirmed. "I'll wait a while if I need to."

Eventually, of course, I couldn't wait any longer. The leakage began slowly, but I peed my pants, much to Philip's satisfaction, and I went into the bathroom to add my wet pants to the others hanging on the rack. I emerged with a towel, and Philip exclaimed over my broad, hairy chest and muscled arms. I sat next to him and let the towel slide away. I was half-hard, and my cock was thick and nearly full-sized.

"My God! You're huge!" observed Philip, and his hand slid across my thigh.

I smiled with a bit of false modesty, and then I let him play with it for a while. Brandon had become hard just from watching, his slender wand waving upwards. In the process of his play, Philip's towel slipped aside, and I saw that his cock was quite small, his balls invisible beneath his bulk. Brandon reached over and began to rub it.

"Careful! I don't want to cum yet!" Philip cautioned his companion.

When we all moved to the large bed, I reminded Philip that I would not participate in "penetrative" sex, but, of course, Brandon wasn't so restricted. Within moments, he was behind Philip humping furiously, while I lay facing the older man, massaging his cock while he toyed with mine. They moaned and ejaculated almost at the same time, while it took me a bit longer to shoot.

I had thought Philip might suggest the three of us together in the shower, but he seemed exhausted, with barely the energy to shower quickly himself and fall into bed. I let Brandon join me as I washed off the night's exertions, resulting in satisfying orgasms for both of us.

Chapter Six

In the morning, I feigned sleep while Philip got dressed and went downstairs for breakfast. Brandon was still inert when I tiptoed out, after discovering two hundred-dollar bills in my pants pocket. I was having breakfast in the club's kitchen when Bill came in, looking somewhat tired. He ate in silence, and then we headed back for the farm to get some rest before our next stint in the bar.

"I ended up as part of a threesome in bed," I told him. "How about you?"

"I thought that old guy would be easy," Bill responded with a sigh. "But he kept me up half the night playin' with my dingus. I'm sore as hell and my groin aches. Made me cum three times last night and once more this mornin'. 'Tweren't a whole lot of fun for me, but at least it was profitable." He held up two hundred dollar bills, which I guessed now was the standard tip for nighttime services.

"I don't much like playin' queer, but I do need the money. How come you can put up with it?"

I thought for a minute. "I guess it's not as much of a chore for me."

Bill gave me a strange look. "What do you mean by that? You LIKE playin' queer?"

I smiled. "It's not so much play-acting for me. You see, I AM queer."

Bill was silent as we went up the driveway and got out. The house was cold, but at least the outside temperature was above freezing. He helped me get a fire started, and then he followed me to the privy. We stood side-by-side in the two-holer, peeing away our morning coffee.

"I can't believe you're a gay boy," he finally said. "You don't look gay and you don't act gay."

"And neither of us looks like whores, but that's what we were last night," I responded, smiling.

We both headed for the big double bed. "You don't mind sleeping with a gay whore?" I asked with a grin as I stretched out.

He hesitated. "Not if he's my friend," he replied softly as he lay beside me. "And I'm no better."

Before I drifted off to sleep, I felt his rough paw squeeze my hand.

We woke up with enough time to put wood on the fire, wash, and change our clothes. We got to the bar just before it opened.

"I was getting worried," Wes told us. "I got some great reports on you guys.

I can add a little something to your pay for that."

"What we'd appreciate is to be able to go home when the bar closes tonight," I said. "We haven't quite recovered from last night's exertions."

Wes smiled. "Just as long as you're available later this week."

The other waiter wasn't there, so Bill and I were quite busy attending to the patrons. The edge of our enthusiasm was a bit dulled, and perhaps we peed ourselves a little sooner than we needed to. Still, everyone seemed to be satisfied. When we got back to the house, we weren't quite ready for sleep, so we sat in the warm kitchen and sipped a nightcap.

"You always been, er, gay?" Bill asked.

"As soon as I could tell the difference between boys and girls, I knew which one I liked best."

"How about me? Do I turn you on?"

I thought about that for a minute. "I care about you on more than one level," I responded, "and I respect you. I wouldn't ask you to participate in anything you didn't really want to do."

"But do I make you hot?"

"Bill, you're a sexy guy. You have a warm smile and plenty of rough charm. And you've got an absolutely wonderful body. You'd make anyone hot."

"My ex-wife didn't think so. But I think maybe I didn't satisfy her with my little pecker."

"You have more than enough to satisfy me," I told him honestly.

"You want to fool around a little before we go to sleep tonight?"

"That's an offer you shouldn't make lightly," I said. "If you're serious, I'll go get some blood tests, and then we should wait a while until I have it done again. When I can prove that I'm clean, then It'll be safe to fool around."

"I should do the same. You don't really know where my pecker's been."

"Then let's put that on the agenda for next week. Meanwhile, I don't think my hand will catch anything from you, nor will yours from me."

"Then we can do that at least."

And we did. Then we slept soundly in each other's embrace.

Chapter Seven

When we arrived at the club the next afternoon, Wes hurried up to us.

"The owner is here today, and we're having a special dinner for him in his suite. I'd really like you both to be there. I've hired substitutes to cover your spots."

We agreed, and then we helped to set up the private dining room, and we were given a formal uniform to wear. Wes made sure that we had plenty of fluids to drink, and I needed a pee when, at 7:00, Jason Mitchell, the owner, entered the room with three other men.

Mitchell was probably sixty, but in good shape. The other men were younger, and all of them filled out their jackets and fitted trousers admirably. I wasn't sure that I was up to the competition.

Bill's raw, rough power attracted his attention at once.

"You don't look like a typical waiter," Mitchell remarked to him.

"No, sir. I done construction and laborer work, but this is my first time in a place with this class." He was playing the role beautifully.

"You look uncomfortable in those clothes," the owner observed.

"It ain't just the clothes, sir."

"What's the problem then?"

Bill shuffled his feet and actually managed to blush. "I ain't had a chance to pee, sir, and I gotta go real bad."

"A bull like you can hold it," Mitchell said with a smirk.

Bill squirmed. "I dunno, sir. I been holdin' it and holdin' it and I gotta pee awful bad."

Although I knew that Bill was no bull in his crotch, the uniform pants had been tailored to provide a maximum bulge. The situation seemed to have stimulated him, and his scant six inches was pushing straight out. Mitchell admired it.

"I'm sure you'll deal with it," was the owner's response.

It was while serving the entree that Bill groaned, clamped his legs together, and proceeded to pee his pants. It was a hot scene, and all those at the table smiled in appreciation. Although the event was planned, Bill appeared thoroughly flustered and embarrassed, and he hustled out of the room, seeming to be practically in tears.

"Some men just can't hold their piss," Mitchell said to his tablemates.

I finished serving the entree, fidgeting a bit in the process.

"You seem to have a problem, too," the owner commented to me.

"Yes, sir," I replied. "All of us have been really busy, and I guess I need to relieve myself, too."

I don't know how I held on for the next hour, but I did. I had to pee so bad I could taste it. Mitchell observed every squirm and squeeze, and he loved it. At the conclusion of the meal, he invited both me and Bill into his sitting room and offered us wine. Instead of accepting the glass, I gave him a look of sheer panic, grabbed my crotch, and said, "Sir, I really have to use your bathroom NOW!"

He smiled as jets of pee hissed out and soaked the front of my fancy uniform pants. I stood there looking helpless.

"It seems that you bladder is as weak as your mate's," Mitchell observed.

"I'm sorry, but I've been holding it in for hours. I just couldn't hold it any longer."

He motioned to one of the other young men. "George, take him and find something suitable for him to put on." I followed into the next room. I stripped completely and was handed a pair of flimsy briefs.

"Mr. Mitchell will like you in these," George remarked as he looked me up and down.

I was half-hard, and the briefs were so small they could not entirely contain my package. The effect was obscene, and I might as well have been naked. But I boldly strode back into the sitting room to give the owner a good eyeful.

"I think I can make use of your talents tonight, and your friend's as well," Mitchell told us.

"With all due respect," I replied, "we do have limits."

He raised his eyebrows. "I'm not accustomed to having my employees set the limits."

"We aren't regular employees," I informed him. "We can participate in a little play, but nothing enters our bodies."

Mitchell scowled. "Perhaps I've misjudged your talents." Then he reached out and grabbed the crotch of one of his young men. "There are plenty of inches here, so I don't need yours. If you're going to be uncooperative, perhaps this club no longer requires your services."

"So be it," I said, and Bill and I walked out and down to the kitchen. There were a few gasps when the staff saw my state of undress, but one of the waiters found jeans and a shirt for me to wear. In a few minutes, Bill and I were on our way back to the farm.

"I guess I blew that one," I said to him. "Sorry about that."

"I'd had about enough of that queer, I mean, gay stuff," he replied. "There are plenty of other ways to earn money."

Chapter Eight

The following morning I returned the borrowed clothing to the kitchen staff and Wes appeared. He handed me enveloped for Bill and me.

"I'm really sorry to lose you, but I don't blame you for walking out on that arrogant prick," Wes said.

I looked in my envelope when I got back out to the car. Inside was a check for $1200 from the club for three night's work, and a thousand dollar bill with a note clipped to it:

"You have more balls than those around me, and from what I could see, more inches as well. My manager tells me that the two of you pleased our clients.

Should you ever want to earn a little pocket money, the club would be delighted to have you back under whatever terms you choose to set. Jason Mitchell"

Bill was happy with the money, and I insisted that he take mine as well. "Just consider it my room and board for the past weeks," I told him.

I also told him that my little vacation was over, and that I would be leaving the next morning. I said that I'd still see my doctor for blood tests, and that if he was serious about a relationship, he should do the same. He agreed enthusiastically.

"You need a car," I said. "Why don't you drop me off at the bus station and borrow this one for a little while? I have another vehicle at home, and when you finally get your own, you can return this one. It will give you an excuse to visit."

He declined the offer, but I insisted. We talked and played around for the rest of the day, and when we slipped into bed, we fell asleep in each other's arms.

At the bus terminal, we parted with a hearty handshake and a warm hug, and as I bounced along the highway toward home, I replayed in my mind the amazing events of the past days and weeks. I was certain that I'd be seeing Bill again soon.